


Hello?

by orphan_account



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-05-01 01:30:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5187065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Well, if worse comes to worse, I suppose I could lease my couch to you.” Napoleon supplied, and suddenly felt his cheeks pinken. Obviously his lack of contact with Illya after so long of being around him was having some sort of an affect on him. Napoleon shook his head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hello?

**Author's Note:**

> From the prompt 'things you said with too many miles between us'

Napoleon sat on his bed, willing himself to look away from the phone he so desperately wanted to pick up, and mindlessly flicking through the file Waverly had dropped to him earlier.

It had been just over two days since Gaby and Illya had left for London, the two of them arriving for the Royal Gala they needed to attend as per their cover, and Napoleon had been left in Madrid until it would be safe for him to follow them over and complete the mission.

For all he preached working alone, it was frankly quite boring, not able to meet up with the duo and instead being left alone to rot in a hotel room. (Sue him, okay. Maybe he was being a drama queen, but Napoleon pined for all of the jewels he would have been able to fawn over while attending that gala, and due to sheer bad luck, he’d had to miss out.)

Napoleon checked his watch again, and decided that the two of them should be just waking up in their own London hotel. Napoleon counted down from five before picking up the phone, dialling the number he had already memorised, waiting for the numerous dial tones to ring before he was finally clicked through.

“Hello.” A voice answered; gruff, still scratchy from a night of sleep, and Napoleon wondered if this was perhaps the first time he’d ever spoken to Illya while he appeared to still be in that daze between asleep and awake.

“Peril.” Napoleon replied, standing up and twisting the phone cord around his index finger, and Napoleon heard some shuffling on the other end of the line.

“Gaby is still asleep, I had to move rooms. Though I doubt even a gunshot could wake her. She sleeps like the dead.” Illya grumbled, and Napoleon imagined he was probably scowling in her direction, wondering how in this line of work she could sleep so soundlessly.

“I’ll make it quick then.” Napoleon told him, smirking even though he knew Illya couldn’t see it, and Napoleon wished deeply he could be with them - wake Gaby up with a coffee ordered from room service, go over the plans with Illya while she grumbled at them as she got dressed. While the three of them had only been a team for some months now, Napoleon noticed then just how valuable the other two were to him.

“Well, the Gala is not until tomorrow. So far nothing else has come up, though Gaby is going to one of the salons where our mark’s favourite sister frequents today. Perhaps more will come from that.” Illya explained, and Napoleon, though he already knew all of this from his own file, let him continue talking anyways. Illya continued laying out every detail of their plan - minor and major - until finally he stopped, the line silent except for Napoleon’s soft breathing.

“And then I’ll make my way over, do what I do best, and we can pack up and head home.” Napoleon finished.

“I suppose you and Gaby will be returning to New York, da?” Illya asked, and Napoleon, who had continued dawdling around the space by his bed, realised that the phone wire had finally pulled taught.

“I believe that’s the plan. Are you pretending the both of us don’t know you own a house in New York too, Peril?” Napoleon asked, and suddenly it felt like the wrong thing to say. Once again the line went silent, yet this time a tense aura fell over the two of them.

“It was... Hm. House in New York was KGB owned. I think upon returning to it, I’d find... It does not matter.” Illya said, probably shaking his head at the phone, and Napoleon pursed his lips. While Napoleon was not one-hundred percent certain what the relationship between Illya and his superiors were, he suspected that perhaps it wasn’t as friendly as it once appeared upon their first meeting in Berlin, all those months ago.

“Well, I’m sure Gaby will have a spare room you could borrow.” Napoleon teased, and Illya barked a laugh at him.

“Nyet. She would have me dancing every night, I assume.” Illya slipped out, and Napoleon raised his eyebrows. _Dancing?_

“Well, if worse comes to worse, I suppose I could lease my couch to you.” Napoleon supplied, and suddenly felt his cheeks pinken. Obviously his lack of contact with Illya after so long of being around him was having some sort of an affect on him. Napoleon shook his head.

“Let’s hope worse does not come to worse then, Cowboy. I have to go, I think I hear Gaby.”

“Tell her I called, will you?” Napoleon asked, and he heard more shuffling from the other end of the line.

“Will do. See you in a week or so.” Illya declared, and Napoleon nodded - once again forgetting Illya wasn’t able to see him. Before Napoleon could get another word out, though, he heard the click of Illya’s line disconnect. Napoleon pulled the phone away from his ear slowly before placing it back on the cradle.

One week. Napoleon decided he could handle that.


End file.
